Songbirds in the Night
by Sujesstive
Summary: Ienyth Desidenius is a half-Dunmer, half-Imperial thief and ranger from Vivec. This is her story as she tries to piece together her past and face her future as the Dragonborn.
1. Escape from Helgen

_Skyrim was since an inspiration and I decided to make up my own story from some of the underlying stories of the game. Please R&R_

_Ienyth Desidenius is a half-Dunmer, half-Imperial_ _thief and ranger from Vivec. She was apprehended crossing the border into Skyrim, trying to reach Riften where she was told by her adoptive parents she was born__, to find her birth parents. This her story as she tries to piece together her past and face her future as the Dragonborn._

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><p><em><em>**Escape from Helgen  
><strong>

I grunted as I opened my eyes, blinking at the fuzziness on the edge of my vision. I could feel rope burning into my wrists, the knot far too complex for even my dexterous fingers. I really should have made Shamas teach me how to escape Imperials.

It was as if they'd been waiting for me, a whole battalion of the red armoured wretches, all with chest plates emblazoned with Akatosh's red dragon. Who'd have thought trying to find your own parents would get you a one way ticket on an Imperial wagon?

It wasn't as if I got caught doing the many, very illegal things I'd gotten up to in Vivec, just trying to return to the place of my birth with a vague indication that my parents were from Riften. Couldn't be that many Dunmer-Imperial couples in Riften, now could there? Easy, I'd said.

"You're awake, friend," declared a blonde haired Nord seated in front of me. I narrowed my pale, green eyes at him. He seemed rather too jovial for a man being taken to his execution. If I wasn't gagged I'd have told him so, but as it was I just stuck to my glaring. Maybe if I glared hard enough he'd combust. If only my hands weren't tied behind my back. Combustion was so much _fun_.

There was another Nord beside me, gagged just like me, and glaring at me. Oh, that was a nice, _icy_ glare, very Nordic. And beside Master Chatty-and-Joyful was some dark haired Nord who looked about as frightened as a newborn deer leaving the thicket for the first time.

They were jabbering away about the execution. In fact, their incessant chattering was driving into my skull and I almost sighed in relief when the wagon stopped in the centre of some town called Helgen. I would be quite happy to die now, if only the talking would _stop_.

I felt rough hands pull me to my feet and I was pushed in line behind the chatty Nord. The man turned a sympathetic eye my way. I narrowed my eyes at his back.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," called some Imperial soldier at the front with a list of names. The glaring Nord stepped forth and the soldier gave some speech about how some would call him a hero, but really he was a traitor. Very poetic.

"Damn Imperials," muttered Chatty. "Love their damned lists." Well at least he was right about that. Never seen anyone draw up a list like an Imperial. I wonder if my Imperial father was a list-writer. Gods above I hope not.

"Ralof of Riverwood." That was the chatty Nord and he stepped for with, Gods bless him, absolute silence. I could have died happy right there.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." Now that was the thief who looked terrified.

"You've got the wrong man," pleaded the thief and I made a noise of disgust, muffled by my gag. So much for the honour of Nords. This man was a crying, grovelling blight on the face of Tamriel. I was a woman and half-Dunmer and even I could face death with more dignity.

At that point he seemed to go mildly insane, muttering something about how they wouldn't kill him and running for the gates. Without hesitation the Redguard captain called for the archers and I watched with mild amusement as he was downed in a flurry of arrows to drown in his own blood in the mud of Helgen's main street.

"Anyone else feel like running?" asked the Redguard, her face a mask of disgust as she beckoned me forth. She signalled to one of the other guards and I felt someone wrench down my gag, nearly snapping my neck in the process and I glared at the man responsible who merely gave me a condescending side glance. Oh, he was going to die. I would make sure of that.

"What is your name, prisoner?" asked the soldier with the list and I all, but growled at him.

"Ienyth Desidenius," I spat, ignoring the look of surprise that cross the Nord man's face. Yes, I had an Imperial last name. What kind of Imperial would 'lower' themselves to not only sleep with a Dunmer woman, but give his name to the result spawn? Oh, the horror.

"She's not on the list, Captain," said the man after scanning his damned list. The Redguard was looking at me with disgust, receiving one of my patented combustable glares in return.

"Shove your list, Hadvar. Put her with the others." Oh, how very original. A Redguard fighting for the Imperial army who didn't like Dunmers. Never seen _that _before. I rolled my eyes and joined the other damned in line.

That's when they brought out the priest. And a priest who dared mentioned the _Eight_ Divines in Skyrim, at that. Yes, because rebels who clearly worshipped Talos would actually want her blessing before they died. Idiot Imperials.

Just as I thought one of the men stepped forth, snapping at the woman to shut up. He made a mention to Talos, fallen Divine of the Nords before his head was lopped cleanly from his shoulders. That's when I first heard it, some echoing roar.

No, I wasn't going mad with fear. Hadn't done that since that one visit to the Red Mountain when the bloody volcano decided that it wanted to erupt in that very moment. Actually the sound was quite similar. There were volcanoes in Skyrim, though. Right?

The Redguard seemed unfazed as she turned around her eyes settling on me. Best get the filthy halfbreed out of the way, I guess as she signalled to one of the guards to push me forward. I walked to the block on my own, not really scared and with far more dignity than that dirty little horse thief. The captain kicked me to my knees and I growled at her. She slammed my head onto the block in response. I got the feeling she was rather enjoying herself.

I could see the axe, still dripping with the rebel's blood. Red rivulets that rolled down the sharpened edge of the ebony blade. How fitting. I was going to be killed with a weapon designed by the Dunmer. I'm sure if the Tribunal could see this they'd smile. Or maybe they'd set the Imperials alight. I think they'd rather have the pleasure of killing me themselves, after torturing me, of course. Torture was a given with the Tribunal.

There was that roar again, closer. The very earth shook with the sound and someone pointed to the sky.

"What is it?" barked the Captain, turning around. I could have run, right then, but I'd probably die like the horse thief. I was better than that.

"Something in the clouds," answered one of her soldiers. I looked up at the clouds that roiled above Helgen's keep. That is when I first laid eyes on the massive black dragon. Pre-death hallucination, maybe. I thought so, until it roared with such a forced it knocked my executioner to the ground. Cute, I'd begun to think of him as _my_ executioner.

The dragon landed atop the keep, shaking the ground and knocking everyone over. It looked directly at me with dark, swirling eyes and roared again, and I felt myself hit the ground. My vision blurred and I felt someone grab me by the arms, pulling my into the keep. The door slammed behind me and I turned, almost groaning as I say Ralof, the Chatty Nord of Riverwood, and Ulfric 'Sir Glares-A-Lot' Stormcloak.

Apparently _everyone_ had seen the dragon, not just me. I could have danced with happiness at finding my sanity was still intact, but this didn't seem like quite the right time to dance. Instead of untying me, as would have been wise, the two rebels led me up the stairs. You know, because I _wanted_ to get closer to the dragon with no weapons in my hands and no way to defend myself.

And the dragon, displaying impeccable timing, I might add Broke through a wall in the keep. If I ever find my birth mother I'll be sure to thank her for fireproofing me. Dunmer blood was quite handy sometimes. Rolling out of the torrent of flame that shot from its gaping mouth I jumped down into a ruined tavern below, nearly twisting my ankle on impact.

Running seemed like a good idea now. All I could hear was roaring and scream and the popping of timber on fire.

"This way, prisoner!" called Hadvar from where he was ushering a small child and his father to cover from the black hulking _dragon_. I did mention there was a dragon, right?

I didn't necessarily trust a man who was fine with executing me, but I was still bound and he had a sword. Maybe he'd at least cut me free. Some hopeful part of my mind also thought he might actually give me a sword. That would be handy.

I followed the soldier through the town, pass screaming townsfolk who fled the flaming buildings, a group of mages in Thalmor armour firing lightning and _fire_ at the dragon. Because fire would bring down a creature that _breathed_ it. I never said High Elves had much in the way of intelligence.

Then Ralof appeared around a corner, by the door to the fortified Helgen Keep. Ralof waved me over, but Hadvar grabbed my arm. I hissed at the Imperial soldier. I had a shot at freedom and I wasn't wasting it. Ralof shoved the man into the mud, grabbing my wrist and the two of us barricaded ourselves in the Keep.

Silently, the Divines bless him, Ralof cut my bonds and I rolled my hands, relishing the freedom of using my joints. He passed me two daggers, a sword and some blue-grey armour rimmed with fur, pointing to a small alcove behind a tapestry before turning his back. Well, isn't that generous? I suddenly felt less like I wanted to throttyle him. Now I had a fighting chance.

As I pulled on the fur boots both Ralof and I turned at the sound of metal clattering against the stone floor of the keep. Imperials. Rough voices echoed off the stone walls, one in particular sounded familiar; as if it had been calling for my execution on moments ago. Ralof signalled for me to take one side of the portcullis style door and I nodded, slipping silently into the shadows.

I heard a key click into place in the lock and couldn't help the small smile that twisted on my lips. The daggers felt as if they were made for my hands, light and fat as I slashed at the first soldier to walk into the room. I noted with grim satisfaction that it was the man who nearly broke my neck ungagging me.

It was a brief victory, however, as I suddenly found myself face to face with the Redguard Captain. She snarled at me and I just grinned, enjoying the fight and the adrenaline spike. My friends in Vivec always said I had a violent streak that leant itself more to the Dark Brotherhood than thievery, and perhaps they were right. There was just something exhilarating about matching your skills ahgainst another and coming out the victor.

The Redguard was well-trained, as most Redguards were. Like the Nords, Redguards only _knew_ fighting. It was ingrained in their culture and psych, like deviousness and thievery was ingrained into Dunmer, and cannabilism and tree worship in Bosmers.

Suddenly there was a break in concentration as her other soldier fell and I took my opportunity, slashing her throat in a whirl of blade and blood. Her scream was silenced as my dagger cut through her vocal chords, her body twitching on the ground in a heap of Imperial amour and dark skin.

Ralof nodded in appreciation and we ran the other way, deep into the escape tunnel that led well under some monstrous mountain fighting through Imperials and beasts alike till the sunlight blinded us on the other side.

Ralof seemed to relax, a smile breaking across his face and I noticed how young he was, younger than me for sure. Perhaps two or three and twenty.

"I can't believe we made it," he sighed. I shrugged. I had to admit I was surprised, too. Afterall and exection with no trial wasn't something I'd encountered before, and I said as much. Ralof nodded sadly.

"That is what Skyrim has become since the Great War," he sighed. "It is that very injustice that Ulfric Stormcloak fights against. You should go to Windhelm, friend, and join the fight. I know you are no Nord, but you clearly have no love for the Empire." I nodded at that. No one could accuse the Dark Elves of being Imperial-lovers, except of course my birth mother, whoever she was.

"You are rather strange for a Dunmer, if you don't mind me saying so," said Ralof sometime down the long mountain trail that led to a village called Riverwood. I shrugged. It was true enough.

I had silver blonde hair that fell straight down my back from its high ponytail. I had the same greyish blue skin of the Dunmer, but a very human nose and pale green eyes. Considering Dunmer had red, black or white eyes, that was enough to make me stand out.

"My father was an Imperial," I said by way of explanation. Ralof seemed to take that and kept silent. "Have you heard of Riften?" he made a face at that.

"Yes, I have. It is the capital of the Rift Hold to the south-east, bordering Morrowind and Cyrodiil. It is overrun with thieves and corruption. Not the best place to travel to." Ralof turned a curios blue eye my way. "Why?"

"That is where I was born and where my parents are from. I was travelling there when I was caught by the soldiers." Ralof nodded, letting out a breath.

"Well it would make the most sense," he said shrugging. At my confusion he elaborated. "After that last big eruption plenty of refugees came to Skyrim from Morrowind. The majority settled in either Windhelm or Riften, the two cities closest to the border. I doubt you'd be from Windhelm, since there is very little mixing of the different races that call the City of Kings home. Riften, however, is a melting pot of culture and if ever there was a Dunmer-Imperial couple it would be in Riften." I nodded, cementing the town in my mind. That is where I was headed. Dragon or no.


	2. Strange the People You Meet in Sewers

_It's been a while, but here's an Ienyth update._

_P.S. Bethesda owns Skyrim and everyone and everything in it._

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><p><strong>Strange the People yYou Meet in Sewers<strong>

It took three and a half months to make it to Riften. Ever since leaving that cave with Ralof it seemed as if the world had spun on its head, and like a ship in a storm I was tossed along for the ride.

Dovahkin. Dragonborn.

I could almost hear the disgust in the Jarl of Whiterun's voice as he looked me over. He, and every other Nord in Skyrim, didn't want an elf, a good-for-nothing Dunmer, to be their saviour.

It didn't matter that I had saved his Hold from a dragon, absorbed its very soul, I was still just a Dunmer. It didn't matter that the Greybeards had summoned me to High Hrothgar, I was still just a Dunmer. It didn't matter that I'd climbed those seven thousand steps and learned the secrets those old men had to share, I was still just a Dunmer.

That's when I left, sick of the hypocrisy. If the Nords wanted me to save their precious, frozen wasteland then, they could come find me. I left that message with Lydia, my housecarl in Whiterun. I left her at my house with orders to give that message to anyone who decided that they'd had enough of the dragons burning their cities to the ground. In the meantime, I was going to Riften.

I convinced the guard at the gate that I did not in fact have to pay a "visitor's tax". You'd be surprised by how easily a man can be persuaded by a woman with a knife against his testicles. Tossing him a sweet smile as the gates closed behind me I turned and drank in the city; the city of my birth.

It shouldn't surprise me that it wasn't very different from Vivec, if a little more chaotic. It sat on a river and had two levels, the rich living up here and the poor living on the canals. As I looked over the bridge I saw a man and a woman having an argument beside me.

"I don't have the money, Sapphire. The shipment I sent was attacked by bandits," sobbed the Redguard, the dark haired Nord woman's face cold and impassive.

"Your excuses do not sway me, Shadr. You owe me that money. I will give you one more day to pay it off." With that the woman turned on her heel, stalking off into the tavern and the man named Shadr sunk to his knees, sobbing. The resemblance Riften had to Vivec was _uncanny_.

Ignoring the weeping Redguard on the bridge, I sidestepped him, making my way to the central square that seemed to act as some sort of market place.

In three and a half months I hadn't stolen _anything_. In Whiterun the people were so thankful for their lives they just gave me whatever I wanted, pressing gifts into my hands, asking for blessings for their children. Blessings from a Dunmer? I nearly laughed.

Here I was anonymous. No one knew that _I_ was the Dragonborn they all whispered about. In fact the whispering was quite entertaining at that.

"A woman? A woman could not take down a dragon."

"I hear she smiled at it and the dragon was charmed by her beauty and just laid down and died."

"She's sleeping with both General Tullius and Jarl Ulfric."

"I heard she was a virgin priestess of Mara who travelled to Skyrim to find love." That one I had to laugh at, turning away and covering my mouth with my hand. My green eyes caught the glint of red hair and an attractive Nord man turned to me and smiled, beckoning me to his potion stall.

"You look like someone who knows how to make an unhonest coin, friend." I narrowed my eyes at the Nord, whose face was open and genial.

"Was it the dark skin and long ears that gave me away?"

"No, friend. I've known a handful of too honest Dunmer in my time. It is just an air about you. In my line of profession it pays to know a person's nature at a glance." In a split second I saw the simple, genial face disappear, beneath it lay a cold ruthlessness I could understand and appreciate. I grinned and the man smiled back at me.

"I am Brynjolf, friend." I shook his hand.

"Ienyth." I left off my surname. It was common practice among thieves not to reveal the whole nature, just as he had done with me.

"Are you Dunmer? You look rather different," commented Brynjolf as he tapped a finger against his lip. I rolled my pale green eyes.

"Half-Dunmer. My father was an Imperial. I was actually born here."

"That makes two of us, but I know you didn't stay here. A pretty half-Dunmer girl would be hard to miss, afterall." I shrugged, taking a seat on one of his crates, fiddling with a bottle.

"My mother took me to Vvardenfell, to Vivec, where I was given to a cousin of hers. That's where I was raised. I came back to Skyrim three months ago." I looked down carefully at the bottle, squinting my eyes at its contents. I smiled. This was just a watered down health potion. I raise one angular eyebrow at the Nord who shrugged.

"Are you interested in doing a job for my…organisation?" I brightened at that. There was something about thievery that just set my blood alight, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins. It made me feel alive in a way nothing else did, except for maybe gutting the odd dragon here and there. That was fun, too.

"I'm going to distract everyone and while that's going on I want you to sneak over to Madesi's stall and steal the ring out of his lockbox. Then I want you to plant the ring on Brand-Shei. It is in my organisation's best interests that the Argonian named Dunmer be temporarily removed." I chewed my lip, flicking my eyes once around the marketplace. I cemented all the details of its layout into my mind in that second and nodded. I could feel the Nord's grin.

He called out to the market, drawing the attention of everyone, including the guards as they all strode over to his stall, listening to his speel. I turned myself inwards, allowing eyes to just wash over me. I was invisible despite the oddity of my appearance. The next time Brynjolf's eyes sought me out I was gone.

The lock on Madesi's stall door was easy for any experienced thief. My long, tapered ears twitched a little, straining to hear the sound. _Click_. I grinned in victory, as I pocketed the rather nice ring. Shame I couldn't keep it.

Strolling across the marketplace I looked over at the market stall where Brynjolf was carrying on about some potion that could cure anything. Pushing past a few by standers I took my place behind the loud mouthed merchant called Brand-Shei. Avoiding detection I slipped the ring into his pocket, rising onto my tip-toes to see this potion. I locked eyes with Brynjolf and he wound down his speel, letting people drift back to their business.

I took a seat by the well, snacking on some bread and cheese, watching Madesi out of my periphery. The Argonian jeweller returned to his stall, startled to see the sliding door open. Panic was written all over his reptilian face as he called for the guards. A small knot of excitement formed in my belly as I looked over fully at them, feigning a passing interest.

The Argonian was shouting and pointing toward Brand-Shei. The guard walked over, asking the Dunmer to empty his pockets. That's when the ring fell out. I turned away, walking over to the potion's stall, hiding my satisfaction behind a well used mask of indifference.

"You do good work, lass," whispered Brynjolf, passing over a bag of coins. I grinned at him and the Nord winked. "There's plenty more where that came from. Make your way to the Ragged Flagon in the Ratways and we'll talk there." I nodded, making my way to the tavern behind Brynjolf.

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><p>It turned out the Ratways were exactly like the Underworks in Vivec, a sewer system inhabited by the insane, addicts and darker creatures still. I kept to the shadows, avoiding anyone in those dark twisting tunnels. On the wall next to the door was a diamond etched into the stone, inside the diamond was a circle, a horizontal line running through it. I looked back at the door, opening it carefully with my hand on the sword on my hip.<p>

I must have looked quite the sight to the drunkards that turned to see the Half-Dunmer walking into their underground tavern. I was wearing some old hide armour that I'd pulled off a bandit's corpse. The leather bodice was tight, even for my slight elven frame, leaving the top few laces loose so I could breathe. The sabre cat fur that made up the skirt of the armour was cut short at the hips, dipping at the front till it reached my knees. I may have gotten creative with Lydia placing dragon, wolf, beaqr, maybe even draugr teeth on pieces of beaded twine that dangled to my knees, or were wrapped around my simple leather gauntlets and fur boots.

One man stepped in front of me with a lust-filled grin on his lips. I shifted my weight to one side, resting my hand on the hilt of one of the two swords I had strapped to my hips.

"You look a little lost, young lady. Let old Thrynn help you out." He moved a little closer, invading my personal space and I placed a finger on his chest, smiling up at his tattooed, Nordic face. He grinned back at me like a fool as I moved a little closer, lifting my chin so he could see the teeth that adorned my necklace there.

"Now there, sweeting," I drawled, tracing my finger across his broad chest. I licked my lips and looked into his eyes. "Do you see the necklace I'm wearing?" He nodded dumbly. "Can you guess what kind of teeth they are?" Thrynn moved closer, inspecting the necklace. In a quick second I had twisted our positions, slamming him against a wall with a dagger against his crotch. The man blinked in surprise at the strength he'd not expected from a little elven girl.

"They're dragon teeth, from a dragon I killed outside of Whiterun. Nasty bugger that really pissed me off, but with teeth that glittered like jewels. Now if you try and accost me one more time, Nord, you will piss me off, and unfortunately for you," I growled, pressing the blade ever closer to his manhood, making Thrynn whimper. I grinned in satisfaction. "Unfortunately for you that might mean losing a few…jewels of your own to adorn my necklace. Do we have an understanding?" He nodded and I released him, placing my dagger back into its thigh sheath.

Behind me I heard the raucous laughter of a man and turned to see Brynjolf clapping in amusement. He turned to a pale Nordic woman and beckon. Disgruntled the woman handed over some coins and glared icily at me. The woman seemed like a ghost. She was pale, even for a Nord.

Brynjolf strolled over to me and clapped me on the shoulder. Ell done, lass. You'll do well here. Now follow me."

I trailed behind the Nord, keeping my eyes on his back and my hand on my sword. In my periphery I watched the whole tavern as they watched me with varying grades of amusement. A dark skinned Redguard woman grinned and patted the much abused Thrynn on the shoulder as she passed him a mug. The icy Nordic woman struck up conversation with a rather simple looking Nord man, while the barkeep shrugged and returned to his duties.

Brynjolf led me down a passage out the back, through a false wall and into the Theives Guild hideout.

For a sewer it didn't leak too much, or smell too rancid, either. All in all, it was actually much _nicer_ than the Vivec Underworks that dripped like an octogenarian beggar and smelled as bad.

"Tomorrow I will introduce you to our Guildmaster, but for tonight you can make use of our rooms and rest. I'm sure it's been a long journey to Riften from Vivec. I grinned at that, reveal sharp predator teeth.

"You have _no_ idea." Brynjolf chuckled and disappeared behind a large, heavy door, leaving me at the mercy of my fellow thieves. The dark haired woman I'd seen hussling the Redguard earlier regarded me with disdain as she stood against the far wall, arms folded over her chest. No need to be offended, for it seemed Sapphire regarded everyone with disdain.

There was a tall, lanky Bosmer crouching over by a cooking pot and I felt suddenly nauseaus at the thought of what the cannibal might be eating. There was a tall man with a blank face sitting by the pool of water, observing his reflection as if he were a blind monk deciphering an Elder scroll. Rather unsure of myself among such an eclectic grouping of people my natural elvish haughtiness took and I strolled to a table and sat down, removing my boots and relishing in the freedom of my unbound feet.

"I'd be careful walking around without boots on," cautioned a deep voice that actually made me jump. A tall Breton walked out from the shadows, where even my keen elven vision could not spot him, and he smiled slightly at his triumph. "My apologies. I did not mean to startle you." I narrowed my very un-Dunmer-like green eyes and snorted.

"As if you could startle me, Breton. My kind invented sneaking." The man smiled at that and took a seat in front of me. I glared at him. Who'd he think he was afterall? The Emperor of Tamriel?

"Yes, Imperials always were ones for unhanded tricks. But at least you have honest blood in you, if your skin tone is any indication." I could have died from shock. Actually…maybe I did die. Maybe I died two and a half months ago fighting that blasted dragon in Whiterun and this was all an elaborate pre-death dream. Because I was sure this _Breton_, this high and mighty, our-noble-blood-runs-deeper-than-yours-_Breton_ just called the Dunmer race _honest._

"_Honest? _Dunmers?" I managed through the haze of my heart stopping shock. The man nodded as if it were a well established fact.

"A Dunmer might stab you and take your money, leaving you to die in the street, but you'll find the knife in your stomach. An Imperial? The knife will be in your back." I laughed at the raw honesty of it. It was true. Dunmer were honest about their dishonesty, compared to the feigned comradery of the Imperials.

"I like you, Breton," I admitted with a smile. The man grinned back, pushing back his hood so I could see his face fully. He was a handsome man in his late twenties, maybe. I was never really good with human ages. He had piercing blue eyes and dark hair that was matted and formed into the occasional dreadlock, bits of twine and bead woven through it.

"The name is Cynric, and you?"

"Ienyth."

"Pleasure," smiled the man, cracking his neck. "How'd you get to be in Riften anyway. I'd place your accent as Vivec, am I right?"

"You are entirely too knowledgable," I responded, narrowing my eyes at the canny Breton. "Yes, I am from Vivec, but Riften is where I was born, so when I came of age I travelled here."

"Came of age? You look no more than seventeen." I grinned at that and tapped my nose.

"And I thank my mother every day for the Elvish longevity," I responded with a wicked grin. "I'm actually about twenty-five or so. Not really positive about that one. I actually came to Riften to find any records of my parents. Afterall, I'm proof enough they _existed_."

"So you're not just running from that angry mountain of yours?" I laughed at that.

"I actually nearly died in the Red Mountain about a year ago, when it decided to erupt with me in it. But no, a little bit of explosive rock doesn't really faze me. And you, Cynric?" I asked, turning the question on its head. "What made you leave the ancient and noble land of Daggerfall?"

"Death. I seem to have a price on my head, through no little doing of my own. Back in Daggerfell I was renowned for getting into prison and breaking out again, mostly for the Dark Brotherhood."

"Why exactly would the Brotherhood of Scary-Creepiness want you caught?" Seemed a funny way to run a not-so-secret secret assassin's guild. Cynric chuckled.

"Well it's easier to assassinate a prisoner when you are indeed a _prisoner_. Can make it look like a random brawl or the product of a prison riot. The fun was in breaking out again. But I took on one job too many and got stuck in prison for three long years. Left Daggerfell then, and came here. Here at least I'm anonymous. Just one face of many."

"Wheras I make a name for myself by _not_ going to prison. You Bretons have strange ways of going about things." Cynric chuckled at that and shrugged.

"I became a pretty good lockpicker doing those sorts of jobs, though."

"And why did you join the Theives' Guild rather than the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim?" Cyncric shrugged as he stood up.

"I'd simply grown tired of death." And with that the strange Breton man left, climbing a ladder by the cooking Bosmer while I sat and thought.

Strange the sorts of people you can run into in the sewers.


End file.
